Aftermath
by TheSpazzo
Summary: The Borealis has been destroyed. The Combine are leaderless and scattered. But Gordon is missing, and Alyx races against the clock to find him. Post Episode 3, spoilers for Episode 2.


Disclaimer: The Half-Life franchise and its respective characters are property of Valve Corporation. In other words, I don't own Half-Life. But I can dream, can't I?

**Aftermath**

The fires from the _Borealis_ turned the night sky an eerie orange-red in parts, the inky blackness still vying for dominance over the heavens while the northern lights danced up above, putting on the same mesmerizing show they had for centuries. Alyx sighed as she paced in the sub-zero air, her breath forming short-lived, wispy clouds while search parties combed the wreckage. He _had_ to be around here somewhere. And yet, countless hours later, there was neither hide nor hair of Dr. Gordon Freeman.

Snow crunched underfoot as she brooded. A search party was walking back to the break tent, exhaustion and frustration etched into their wind-chapped faces. The leader looked down, as if he sensed the coming question.

"You guys find anything yet?" There was a tinge of hope in her voice, mixed in with fear.

"No. Nothing yet."

"Nothing? Are you – "

"Yes, Miss Vance. We're sure."

A quiet sigh, an acknowledgement of defeat. "All right, then. If you find anything, could you call me over?"

"I'll make a note of it, ma'am."

"Thank you." She stole another look at the _Borealis_ and the people milling around it, resembling ants at this distance. The twenty pounds of Semtex she had packed onto the helicopter for the vessel's fuel tanks had certainly done the job, but she hadn't foreseen that they would get separated.

Maybe he was dead, she silently admitted. Maybe all they would find after – she checked her watch – two days and seventeen hours was his corpse. Maybe not even that. Maybe all they would find was his crowbar or his glasses.

But this was _Gordon Freeman_, she reminded herself. Liberator of humankind, a veritable one-man army who had taken everything the Combine could throw at him time and time again. To have him die here, in this godforsaken wasteland, would be nigh on sacrilegious.

"SAR CP, this is Buzzard Three-Five. We are on station and awaiting orders, over," squawked the radio in the break tent.

"Copy, Three-Five. Make a few passes over the wreckage with your FLIR."

"Buzzard copies, CP. Buzzard out." The steady thrumming of rotor blades beating the frigid air reached Alyx's ears, and she looked up to see an old Pavehawk soar over her head and begin to circle the destroyed ship. She turned and walked the ten yards – though it seemed like ten miles – to the break tent, ducking under the flap. The light inside nearly blinded her, but as her eyes adjusted she discerned the layout of the makeshift command post.

A couple of crates had been stacked around the walls of the tent, and a string of lights lit the long mess table that had been set up at the center of the tent. A handful of search party members sat at the table, eating rations, drinking coffee, and discussing the only thing on their minds – the search. A radio had been set up on the table. Its operator, an unshaven black man with bloodshot, darting eyes, had his headset on and notepad and pencil nearby, ready to transcribe the orders of the search coordinator behind him at a moment's notice.

He was oblivious to everything outside his own little world, a world constructed on words like _megahertz_ and _volts_ and _frequency_. He spared her a small glance as she passed by on her way to the far end of the tent to the tea maker. Brewing herself a hot cup of green tea, she took a seat next to a couple of searchers.

"I think he's dead, myself," voiced one over a plate of mashed potatoes and beef.

"Chavez, come on, not with her around. Show some class."

"Hey man, I'm just stating the facts. Unless he's got a little heater in that suit of his, he's probably all kinds of fucked up by now."

"There's always that chance."

"Ha! – 'that chance'. What is 'that chance', Bauer? One in a hundred? A thousand? Old Jack Frost is probably on his way right now, coming to claim him in person."

"Chavez…"

"And we're probably not even gonna find anything! Have you seen how much debris is out there? It'd take some sort of miracle to – " Alyx saw red as she stood up, grabbed Chavez by his beanie, and slugged him with all the strength she could muster. A hush fell inside the tent as all eyes turned in her direction. Chavez looked up at her in awe, then reached up and felt his nose.

"That hurt."

"It was supposed to hurt."

"I was just stati-"

"You were being an asshole is what you were," Alyx spat out.

"But we haven't found anything. _Nothing. _It's been nearly three days and we've got _nothing_."

"Yeah, well, you rubbing it in doesn't help." Silence for a few moments.

"SAR CP, this is Buzzard Three-Five. We're not getting anything on thermals, over." The coordinator rubbed his beanie-covered head and closed his eyes for a few moments before speaking up.

"Tell them to pack it in. We're going home."

"Buzzard Three-Five, this is SAR CP, return to base. We're out of here. Out." Alyx felt herself running over to the coordinator, who was already starting to break down the tent.

"Can't you ask them to make one more pass? Please?" The coordinator turned to face her.

"Listen, Miss Vance. There's nothing out there. We've checked. You've checked. He's just not out there."

"But what if he is? What if he is and we just haven't looked hard enough?"

"Then he's probably either dead or dying. I'm sorry, Miss Vance. There's just nothing else we can do. We're not going to risk losing what's left of the Resistance for one man. Not even Doctor Freeman."

"Even if he's dead, the least we could do is give him a proper burial." The coordinator paused for a second before turning to the radio operator.

"Tell them to make one more pass." The radio operator nodded and turned back to the radio.

"Buzzard Three-Five, this is SAR CP. Disregard our last. Make one more pass of the wreck, then pack it in, over."

"Copy. Buzzard out."

"You better be right about this," the coordinator stated, arms akimbo. Alyx didn't reply, but walked outside to observe the final pass. Buzzard was an appropriate call sign, Alyx thought as she watched the Pavehawk circle the _Borealis_. _It sure looks like one right about now._ Every second was a minute and every minute was an hour as the helicopter continued to circle the wrecked vessel.

_Please, Gordon. Don't die on me now. Not after all this. Not after all we've been through together._

"SAR CP, this is Buzzard. We're at bingo fuel. There's nothing alive down there." The words were like a shot through the heart. Alyx felt her eyes watering and her knees grow weak.

_Nothing alive down there. Nothing. First Mom. Then Dad. Now him. Oh, God._

"CP copies, Buzzard. Return to base. Out."

"Let's go, people. We're heading back to White Forest."

The radio suddenly crackled to life with a new transmission, the voice shaking with excitement.

"Wait a minute, CP, we've got something!" The searchers exchanged looks of disbelief as the radio operator sat back down.

"Whatcha got, Buzzard?"

"We've got a definite thermal contact about a hundred-fifty yards off the port bow! Too big to be an animal, and it's definitely not an oil fire!"

"You're sure it's not a searcher?"

"Affirmative, it's underneath a large pile of rubble! I can't make out much, but it looks like the contact's got a pipe or a crowbar in its hands!"

_Gordon._

Before the coordinator had even opened his mouth to give an order, Alyx was already sprinting to the _Borealis_. She couldn't have run faster if a pack of Hunters was after her. The icy winds bit viciously at her face, her feet were on the verge of freezing from the accumulated moisture, and her lungs screamed at her for respite, but all that mattered right now was that they had _found_ him.

She slipped on a patch of ice and fell, the impact knocking the wind out of her. _Get up, Alyx. Get up!_ She rolled over onto her side and regained her footing, the ice bitterly cold through her rappelling gloves. She dashed to the nearest pile of rubble and looked around, then glanced at the _Borealis_. She _was_ off the port bow, and it looked to be about a hundred and fifty yards away, so…

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a gloved hand grasping a crowbar protruding out from underneath a stack of debris. _There!_ She ran over, tossing away debris madly. Heaving aside one last chunk of metal, she came face-to-face with Gordon. _Oh my God…_

Gordon's face and lips were blue. His eyes were shut, and the left lens of his glasses was shattered. Frost had accumulated on his cheeks, and an ugly gash marred his forehead. Alyx unzipped her winter coat and placed it over him, leaving it to her street clothes to battle the elements.

She looked toward where she had come from. The searchers were catching up, and the radio operator was now carrying a backpack radio.

"Medic! He needs a medic!" she yelled out, lifting up the collar of the HEV suit to check for a pulse. The cry went up among the searchers.

"Medic!"

"We need a medic down here!"

"Doc!"

A man bounded out of the break tent, sprinting over to Alyx, whose fingers continued to search for a pulse on Gordon's ice-cold neck.

"How bad is he?" the medic asked in a thick City 32 – _New York,_ Alyx corrected herself – accent as he swung his aid bag off his shoulder and went down on one knee next to Gordon.

"Bad. I can't find a pulse and it doesn't look like he's breathing." The medic lifted up the HEV suit's collar and his fingers roamed around Gordon's neck before stopping in one spot for a moment.

"I got one. It's real weak, but it's there," he said as he took a shaving mirror out of his bag and held it up to Gordon's nose and mouth. Holding it in place for a few short seconds, the medic suddenly replaced it in his bag and started digging around for something.

"Christ, he's in bad shape. Unconscious for who knows how long, hypothermic, frostbitten, and in respiratory arrest. Radioman!" The operator's head jerked up at the mention of his second name. "Get us a medevac bird!"

"On it, Doc!" the radioman shouted back as the medic pulled out a small plastic bottle connected to a bag of oxygen. Placing the mouthpiece over Gordon's lips, he squeezed the bottle rhythmically.

"Fire Base Ripper, this is SAR Team Yankee! We've found him! Requesting medevac chopper, over!" the radioman shouted over the howling wind. The radio hissed a garbled reply.

"Say again your last Ripper, Yankee does not copy!" The radio squawked another answer, this time more insistent.

"Wait one, Ripper! Doc! Medevac bird's on the way! ETA ten minutes!"

"No good! Tell him to make it five or it's his ass!"

"Ripper, Ripper, ten is no good, I say again, ten is no good! We need it in five, over!" Another hiss of static, another transmission.

"Yankee copies, Ripper! Yankee out! Doc! They've got a Sea Knight in the air that's within ten minutes of bingo fuel! They're gonna turn around, try to make it here before they reach bingo!"

"Can they make it here in five?"

"They don't know! Maybe!"

"What can I do, Doc?" Alyx asked, shivering as she attempted to warm her hands in her armpits without much success.

"Right now? Nothing except wait for the chopper and hope for the best." The medic ceased squeezing the plastic bottle and dug out the shaving mirror again, holding it to Gordon's mouth and nose. The mirror clouded over with condensation.

"We got him breathing again, so that's good."

"Maybe I should get some blankets from the tent?" Alyx persisted.

"No, your coat's enough. We don't want to warm him up too fast. Radioman! What's the word on that helicopter?"

"They're getting a pretty fast tailwind, Doc! ETA is ninety seconds! We should have a visual on it soon!"

And here it came, a gray angel descending from the clouds, twin rotors _whupwhupwhup_ing away and sending debris flying everywhere as it came in for a landing. Alyx shielded her eyes with her forearm, the rotor wash running through her hair as the helicopter landed with a _thunk_. Its rear cargo bay door lowered with a whine of hydraulics, and a two-man stretcher team emerged, jogging over to them.

"How bad is he, Doc?" one of them asked.

"Pretty bad. Be real careful when you pick him up, okay? We don't want to break anything." The stretcher team nodded and slid the stretcher under Gordon, inch by inch, Alyx and the medic assisting them.

"Okay, lift him up, nice and slow. On three. One, two, three!" The medic grunted as they lifted up the stretcher and walked as fast as they dared to the waiting helicopter. One of the stretcher-bearers removed a walkie-talkie from his pockets.

"Thumper, this is Ventura. We've got him. Prep for takeoff, over."

"Copy, Ventura. Just say the word and we're out of here."

"Music to my ears, Thumper. Ventura out." The stretcher-bearer put the radio back into his pockets. The helicopter was a tantalizingly near haven, so close yet so far away as the stretcher team struggled through rotor wash and snow. _Hang in there, Gordon…_

The team trundled onto the helicopter, red lights illuminating the cabin and long metal benches on either side of the aisle.

"We're good to go!" one of the stretcher-bearers shouted into the cockpit as they set the stretcher down.

"Roger that, prepare for dust-off," a calm female voice replied as the rear door rose up into position. "Yankee, this is Thumper. Viper will be on station for pickup in twenty. Good job, boys and girls. Out," she concluded as the Sea Knight took off.

"Need us for anything, Doc?" one of the stretcher-bearers asked.

"Not yet."

"Thought so. We'll be in the cockpit if you need us," the other said as they walked down the aisle and slid open the door.

"So what do we do now?" Alyx inquired.

"We wait for him to wake up. Then we can find out what else is wrong with him." The medic sat down on the bench and looked out of one of the portholes. "Should be any minute now." A groan sounded throughout the cabin.

"That was fast," the medic observed as he got up and leaned over Gordon. "Doctor Freeman, you with us?"

"It…hurts…"

"What hurts?"

"My leg…I think I broke it…"

"Well, there's not much I can do for you now. I don't have a splint that'll fit over that suit of yours, so that'll probably have to wait until we get back to White Forest. Just try not to move it. You might wanna check up on the suit, too. I'm not that familiar with it, but I'm guessing it malfunctioned. That'd explain why you're hypothermic." Catching a look from Alyx, he added, "I'll be in the cockpit while you two catch up."

"Thanks, Doc."

"It's what I do," the medic replied as he slid the cockpit door shut.

"The _Borealis_?" Gordon croaked as the whine of the engines penetrated the cabin.

"Destroyed."

"And the Combine?"

"Leaderless and on the run. We did it, Gordon," Alyx said, squeezing his hand. Gordon leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling.

"Yes." He turned to Alyx.

"Yes, we did."

And he squeezed back.

********

Author's note:

So there you have it. My first Half Life story (I prefer to call them stories, as fanfiction sounds so juvenile). Reviews are welcome, as is constructive criticism.

A little history behind Aftermath, for those of you who're interested in that sort of thing: I first had the idea for what would later become Aftermath way back in the winter of '08. I was listening to the Black Hawk Down soundtrack (which, in my opinion, fits the atmosphere of Half Life 2 perfectly, especially the later chapters in the ruins of City 17), and a particularly poignant track called "Leave No Man Behind" started playing over my laptop's speakers. This was right after I had finished Episode Two, so the _Borealis_ and all that was still fresh in my mind. I got to thinking, and as I listened to it, I started fabricating a short sequence in my head that I believed fit the song perfectly. This short sequence would later evolve into a full-blown story.

Of course, the initial concept was quite a bit different from the finished product. I initially pictured Gordon striding heroically out of the fires towards Alyx at the climax, with nary a scratch on him. Alyx would run up to him for hugs and kisses, etc., etc. After a brief review of the concept, I decided that this approach was far too predictable and boring, and opted for a much more hectic climax.

In addition, Ayx originally broke down crying after Chavez's rant. After one of my beta-readers suggested that this made Alyx look weak, I changed it so that she slammed Chavez's face into the table. While this strengthened her character considerably, it also seemed a bit melodramatic. I eventually settled on a middle ground, going for a punch instead.

Finally, Alyx originally had much more dialogue in the ending scene. Most of it was her voicing her thoughts on the whole mission, and also confessing that she had been scared when Gordon was missing. This made the ending unnecessarily long and wordy. It also made Alyx seem overly dependent on Gordon. It was cut on day three of the writing process and replaced with the much more streamlined ending you see here.

The whole story took six days to write, editing and beta-reading included. Yeah, I'm a gigantic nerd like that.

I would like to thank my sister Katie (even though she was a bit of an ass at times) and my friend Michael for beta-reading Aftermath. This story would not be what it is today without their guidance, keen editor's eyes, and endless amounts of patience.

Well, enough chit-chat. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.


End file.
